


Great Pittsburgh Bake Off

by Burning_Up_A_Sun



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - The Great British Bake Off Fusion, Baker Evgeni Malkin, M/M, baker sidney crosby
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2020-01-05
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:48:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 12,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21948331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Burning_Up_A_Sun/pseuds/Burning_Up_A_Sun
Summary: Sid has always wanted to be a baker since his first Easy Bake Oven. Winning the Great Pittsburgh Bake Off should be a breeze. Except for one Russian who's standing in the way.This is being written for the Twelvetide Drabbles that start 12/24 and go to 1/6.Today's prompt is DATES
Relationships: Sidney Crosby/Evgeni Malkin
Comments: 13
Kudos: 96
Collections: Twelvetide Drabbles 2019





	1. Date With Destiny

**Author's Note:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: there is an off screen, minor character death mentioned in the first sentence. 
> 
> please forgive any GBBO mistakes I made. I've only watched one season so far.

His first memory after his mom died was an Easy Bake Oven. This way, his dad had said, if you want a snack, you can make one yourself.

It was an extravagant trade off for being alone until his Dad came home from work. 

His first cake was a nasty, flat thing. It looked like yellow cardboard, and tasted like shit.

Before he committed a second cake crime, he added a little bit of his Capri Sun to the cake mix instead of water. He thought lemonade might make it taste better; it couldn’t make it taste worse. 

_Yes!_ He was right; it did taste better—if only marginally. 

Over the years that his Easy Bake Oven lasted, he taught himself how to make pizzas, biscuits, chocolate chip cookies, vanilla cakes. And chocolate cakes. All types of chocolate cakes.

They became his signature bake.

~*~

Pittsburgh was unseasonably warm on December 24. Forecast to be below freezing, the weather is actually closer to the mid-sixties. _Someone borqued that,_ Sid thought.

It was the best Christmas gift possible.

Actually, being chosen one of 12 amateur bakers in the Great Pittsburgh Bake Off was the best Christmas gift possible. Not having to be in a heated tent in Point State Park was a close second.

He asked for the first on the left. He’d studied the other series and decided that this would bring him closer to the judges and therefore, provide more interaction with them. He practiced and polished his media presence all for this event. 

Winning the Great Pittsburgh Bake Off was tantamount to being entitled The Best Baker in Pennsylvania. And Giroux in Philadelphia could suck it. 

The work station next to Sid’s was chaos and they hadn’t even started yet. A Russian man named—Sid couldn’t pronounce the name, but he could spell it. E-v-g-e-n-i. The hosts called him Geno, so Geno it was. 

Behind Sid was a formidable baker named Jake; he’d won several local bake offs, but he was young—almost 10 years younger than Sid—and Sid could take him down. Experience over enthusiasm.

The others were of no consequence to Sid, except one tall guy at the 12th station, Dumo. “Du-mo,” he wrote on his wrist. Sid heard whispers that Dumo was quite a foodie, that he baked for his friends and family to rave reviews. But who doesn’t, right?

That didn’t make Sid nervous. Much.

“Okay Bakers.” Tanger called them to order with Flower by his side. “Today’s Signature Bake is deceptive: an old fashioned chocolate cake.”

“But!” Flower cut in. “Not your typical chocolate cake. We want you to make it a healthier option.”

“Your judges are Mike Sullivan and Jim Rutherford,” Tanger said to the camera. “And welcome to round 1 of your Great Pittsburgh Bake Off. Bakers, you have two hours. On your mark—”

“Get set!” Flower pointed to the contestants.

“Bake!”

Although Sid was a kindergarten teacher by trade and a baker by choice, he was also a personal trainer. He’d created lighter versions of most of his cakes, but he made a kick ass four-layer chocolate coconut cake with whipped cream and sherry-soaked strawberries.

“Nothing about that sounds low-cal, Sid,” Flower said, stealing one of Sid’s strawberries as Sid was slicing them in exact quarter-inch slices and dropping them into the Oloroso sherry. Sid tried to smack Flower’s knuckles, but Flower was too quick and took a bite from the bottom of the strawberry before Sid could steal it back. 

“Go away, Flower,” Sid said. “I only have two hours, and the strawberries have to soak for an hour.”

All around him, Sid heard indistinct chatter and then the occasional outbursts in Russian. Once his strawberries were soaking and his chocolate cake batter (with dates and wheat flour and coconut) was panned and in the oven, Sid took a moment to breathe.

He looked at Geno, who’d stripped down to his white t shirt, and holy Jesus, those were some fucking biceps. 

No time for biceps, right now, though. Sid grabbed his can of coconut milk, cranked it open, and poured it into the KitchenAid to begin the whipped cream. The key was not to over whip it.

“Looks good, eh?” Tanger said in Sid’s ear. 

Sid jumped because he hadn’t heard Tanger sneak up. “Thanks. Coconut whipped cream cuts the calories—”

“Not the whipped cream!” Tanger side hugged Sid and said, “The Russian.”

Sid’s face turned bright red. “I was just looking at the fountain—”

“Sure. We all are.” And Tanger left, his laughter drifting back as Sid restarted the mixer.

~*~

They loved Sid’s cake.

“I could spend an hour eating this and be in Heaven,” Rutherford said with a smile.  
“This is a good cake. Nice and moist. A good cake.” Which was high praise from Sullivan.

Geno was next. Sid looked at him critically. His work station looked like someone had ransacked it. A thin dusting of flour covered everything, eggshells littered the floor, chocolate shavings clung to Geno’s forearms, and chocolate handprints were spread across his butt.

Sid sighed. A messy baker produced a messy product.

Except. 

Rutherford declared it the best chocolate raspberry cake he’d ever tasted. 

Sullivan said nothing. Just shook Geno’s hand. 

Mentally, Sid threw up his hands. They might as well just hand him Star Baker right now. 

~*~

Geno’s Magnitogorsk Chocolate Cake with Raspberries was first. Rusty’s Red, White, and Blueberry cake took second for its unique use of chocolate. And Sid was third. 

Sid didn’t like being third. 

Didn’t like it at all.

His goal was to be the best baker in Pittsburgh, had been since he was 8. Evgeni Malkin wasn’t going to stand in his way. 

He’d just double down in the Technical Challenge. 

He had to make it through to week two. He _had_ to.


	2. Egg on his face

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Technical Challenge is to produce 6 identical cakes--without causing permanent damage to yourself.  
> 
> 
> Today's chapter is brought to you by the 12/26 prompt: Eggs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The recipe is [here](https://thegreatbritishbakeoff.co.uk/recipes/all/prue-leiths-angel-cake-slices/)
> 
> I think I've taken liberties with Point State Park. My apologies to all you Yinzers

With only a brief break for lunch, the bakers were back for their first gingham-shrouded mystery. 

“Hello bakers,” Tanger said from the front of the baking stations, “And welcome to your very first Technical Challenge, which today has been set for you by Mike Sullivan.”

Flower looked from the bakers to Mike. “Any advice for them today?”

“The secret to success with today’s Technical Challenge is accuracy.” Mike was serious as always, without even a hint of a smile.

Sidney’s stomach churned with the stress. They had all week to practice the Signature Bakes and the Showstopper at home, but the technical challenge was a complete secret until he removed the black and yellow gingham towel from the ingredients. 

“As ever, your Technical Challenge will be judged blind, so we’re going to have to ask Mike and Jim to leave the tent.” Flower ushered them out and ensured that they were gone before returning to Tanger. 

Tanger clapped his hands together. “For your technical challenge, Mike would like you to make—”

 _Please don’t be sponge cakes, please don’t be sponge cakes, please don’t be—_ Sid chanted

“—Six identical Angel cake slices, each made from three layers of Genoise sponge—”

_Fuck._

“The sponge layers must be sandwiched with a silky smooth Italian meringue buttercream, topped with icing, and feathered.”

Flower looked almost gleeful as he called out, “Bakers, you have an hour and 45 minutes for this Challenge. On your mark—”

“Get set.”

“Bake!”

They all had identical ingredients, and Mike’s pared down 15-step recipe.

He had to stand out from the other bakers, Sid thought. This round was double elimination, and he didn’t want to get sent home in round one. Like, maybe the third or fourth round, but he’d be mortified.

“What if,” Sid murmured, “I make something more intricate than they asked for?”

He grabbed his bowl and sat it on the pan of water, and began adding the caster sugar, eggs, and the other ingredients. There was no room for individuality in this round. He needed to layer the lemon, raspberry, and vanilla cakes with the Italian meringue buttercream between them and be as airy as possible. If he overmixed, it would create thin, flat, rubber that no one would want to taste. If he were careful, if he paid strict attention, he should come in just under 1:45. But if he lost his concentration or fucked up the oven, it would be lost. There wouldn’t be time to try again.

Once the cakes were in the oven, Sid began his meringue buttercream. He whisked the egg whites in his mixer at a slow, steady speed. He needed the fine peaks, so he had to watch it like a –

“Geno! Watch out!” Sid yelled as Geno’s hip knocked the cake pan which was too close to the edge of the countertop. As if in slow motion, the pan fell. Geno reached out to catch it and shouted in searing pain. He tossed it back onto the counter—amazingly still intact—then stared at his right hand, which was already beginning to blister. 

“Jesus, Geno, are you ok?” Sid ran over to him, took one look, and dragged Geno to the nearest sink where he ran cool water over the burn.

“Need ice,” Geno said, but his voice was faint and thin. He looked like he was going to vomit. 

“No ice. It’s bad for the burn.” Sid kept his voice soft and calm, but he felt like he should be screaming for help. “Trust me. I know.”

“Sid, you meringue.” Geno pointed with his left hand. “Go.”

Sid looked over at his KitchenAid and back to Geno. He’d have to start again; he might have just enough time for a passable buttercream.

“I’m finish, too. Go. Go.”

Some color had returned to Geno’s face, so Sid did go back to his station. The judges granted him the 15 minutes he’d lost helping Geno.

Meanwhile, as he assembled his Angel cake slices, he watched Geno who was definitely hobbled by his burned hand. He powered through the pain, which Sid was certain hurt like a bitch. Somehow, Geno’s cake looked alright.

Each baker placed his completed cakes behind his photo, which faced away from the judges. 

Jim and Mike declared Schultzy’s “Like rubber. If I dropped this on the floor, it would bounce back and hit me.”

Jake’s was a mess of uneven slices and liquid fondant.

Murr’s was burned and sounded like a cookie when the judges cut it with the fork. 

Geno’s was deemed passable. It was over-iced and the pink feather on top bad, but it tasted beautiful. 

Sid’s was tall and airy with a delicious taste. His buttercream was good, and Mike announced that it was “Almost perfect.”

Everyone slapped Sid’s back and congratulated him, except Geno. He bear hugged Sid and thanked him profusely, careful not to knock his bandaged hand.  


The contestants exited the tent together, but then they scattered to their cars. Geno began walking away from the parking lot and up the road out of Point State Park. Sid crept his Tahoe along next to Geno. “Do you need a ride somewhere? I’m happy to drop you.”

Geno hesitated, like he was weighing the pros and cons, and finally nodded. “Can drop me at restroom.” He pointed vaguely off to the left as he climbed into the truck.

Sid didn’t exactly understand. “The restroom? Don’t you need a ride home?”

“No. Restroom is fine.” They sat in increasingly uncomfortable silence.

“I’ll wait for you,” Sid said, unlocking the truck doors when they got to the restroom pavilion. “It’s no problem. Happy to do it.”

“Sid, just go,” Geno said, sounding tired but curt. “Thank you but go.”

Sid’s eyes were wide, and he clenched his teeth. “Fine. I was just trying to be nice.”

“No need,” Geno answered. “We contestants, not friends.”

Geno slammed the Tahoe door and walked to the men’s room. Sid saw him pull his coat tighter around himself.

It may have been mid 60s when they began the show today, but it was below freezing right now. 

Geno was an asshole, but he didn’t deserve to walk anywhere in this weather. Sid would just wait.


	3. Too Much Pressure and I'm Nervous

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Today's prompt was CINNAMON
> 
> Sid's Showstopper is the Penguins Arena. Geno's is the plane that would take him to the US.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok, so these are supposed to be 100 words. whoops. 
> 
> NOTE: I'm not from PGH, and if you could do me a favor and just forgive any mistakes I make...

_We contestants, not friends._

“I should go,” Sid said to the empty car that was idling outside the men’s restroom to ward off the freezing night air. “He said I should go.”

Still he waited. Maybe Geno was meeting someone, like a date or a ride home. Sid ignored the funny flip in his stomach. For God’s sake, Geno’s hand was a mess, and he was worried about him—it! He was worried about Geno’s hand. How would he practice his Showstopper?

There’s only one way out of the restroom, and Sid’s parked in front of it. After waiting for almost a half hour, Sid said _fuck it_ and went inside to check. The facility was empty except for a homeless man bundled in the corner of the large, handicapped stall. He lay sleeping on the floor wrapped in a yellow mummy bag and filthy blanket.

As much as he wanted to know where Geno went, Sidney wouldn’t wake the homeless man to ask. 

Until.

He recognized the black and gold patterned jacket peeking out of the top of the blanket. Thirty minutes ago, he’d walked next to someone wearing that exact jacket. 

Sid crouched down and shook the man. “Geno! What are you doing here?”

Geno opened one bleary eye and said, “Was sleeping.”

“You can’t sleep here!” 

“I’m know. Because you too loud.”

“Not what I’m saying, and you know it.” 

Geno closed his eyes again, almost as if he pretended to be asleep, Sid would go away. 

“Geno, you can’t sleep here. The police—”

“Is just for tonight. New apartment ready tomorrow. Go away.”

What could Sid do? “As long as you have a place to go—”

“Tomorrow everything be fine. Cinnamon and rainbows.” Geno’s eyes were still closed, but Sid thought he saw them crack open.

“Sunshine and rainbows,” Sid corrected with a laugh. “And take care of your hand.”

But Geno was already pretending to be asleep again. Or Sid thought he was pretending. He himself was exhausted and tomorrow was the Showstopper. He climbed back into the Tahoe and drove home, his mind already shifted from Geno to tomorrow’s bake.

~*~

“Just one challenge remains before the first Star Baker is crowned and one baker will have to leave the tent,” Flower said to the camera. “I just hope it’s not me.”

Tanger rolled his eyes. “I’ve eaten your baking. You shouldn’t even be _in_ the tent! Bakers! Your Showstopper challenge is the birthday cake you dreamed of as a child.”

“The flavors, fillings, and decorations are up to you, but it has to be spectacular and sizeable,” Flower finishes. “You have four hours. On your mark, get set, bake!”

Sid listens to them interview Mike and Jim. As he gathers his supplies, he hears them say that it’s about the detail and color. About the wow factor. He’s gonna try to wow them with a Pittsburgh institution: the Penguins and PPG arena. 

As he’s measuring his dry ingredients into the bowl, everything fades away except the baking. There’s no Geno sleeping in the men’s room. No Jake twirling along his baking station for good luck before he starts. No Dumo who did something to his ankle overnight and has one leg kneeling on a scooter.

There’s only his skill, his cake, his last chance to stay in the tent.

~*~

Sid is first to bring his cake to the judges’ table. “When I was little, I wanted to be a professional hockey player for the Pens. For my eighth birthday, my dad got us tickets to the home opener. So this cake is dedicated to him.”

He’d created the arena, the pristine ice before anyone skated on it. There were even advertisements on the boards. 

“The base is a chocolate sheet cake with white, buttercream icing. I’ve laid isomalt sugar glass sheets on top to recreate the ice. The stands are a Genoise sponge that I held up with dowels. Marzipan for the Penguins logo.”

“The decoration is exceptional,” Mike says. “As a Pens fan, I really appreciate it.”

Jim spoke up. “A chocolate sheet cake is a bit simplistic, but let’s see how it tastes.”

He’d taken a chance with a sheet cake. Hopefully, the taste would win them over. 

“This is a surprise,” Jim said as he cut into the cake. The chocolate cake is sectioned and alternated with lemon cake for a surprise black and gold.

“The cake is delicious. Moist and light,” Jim said. “The chocolate and lemon work well together. The Marzipan decorations are stunning.”

“It’s faultless,” Mike added. “Thank you.”

Sid took his cake back to his workstation and breathed in what felt like the first time all day. “Faultless,” he whispered to himself. 

Geno was next. He’d created an airplane, complete with the Aeroflot logo on the tail. Sid had no idea how he’d gotten the wings to stay on without falling.

“When I’m little, I’m hear so much about the U.S., all I’m want to do it live there. Hockey and food. What more could little boy want?”

“This is very ambitious,” Jim said, turning the cake base to look at the plane from all sides. “It looks like your hand affected your decorating?” Jim asked. “Your lines could be straighter. I love the fondant windows.”

They loved Geno’s cake, because of course they did. Geno carried his cake back to his workstation. He caught Sid looking at him and flashed a thumbs up. 

Sid gave him one back.

~*~

“That’s our first week successfully completed!” Flower said to the 12 contestants sitting in a line on barstools. “I have the pleasure of announcing this week’s Star Baker.” After a very long dramatic pause, he said, “This week’s star baker is Sidney.”

He almost burst into tears. Objectively he knew he’d done alright, but he’d been so afraid he’d be sent home.

“Your Technical Challenge was ‘almost perfect,’ and your Showstopper was ‘faultless.’ Congratulations, Sidney.” Flower shook Sid’s hand and then returned to the front of the room. 

Sid stared in disbelief, like they’d somehow made a mistake when they meant to say Geno. But he wouldn’t say anything in case they took it away. 

Tanger stepped forward. “That means I have the horrible job of sending someone home. Matt, I’m so sorry.”

All the contestants stepped up to hug Murr and to tell them that he was sorry. Even Jim came over to talk with Murr.

Mike pulled Sid aside. “Great first week, Sidney. Really expecting a lot from you.”

Part of Sid was proud as hell that he’d won Star Baker the first week. But Part of him was so afraid that he wouldn’t be able to keep it up for 12 weeks. 

_Don’t borrow worry,_ his dad always said. He’d have to try to remember that.


	4. Tastes Like chocolate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Today's prompt: Chocolate   
>  courtesy of Pillsbury
> 
> Sidney waits as long as he can before he must go check to see if Geno is living in the men's room at the park.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so, my apologies to the Pittsburg-ers. One site said point state park closes at 11. another said sundown, and dusk. So I went with dusk because it fits my need. Also, I would have sworn dusk was BEFORE sundown, but guess what. LOL.

All week, as Sid practiced his cookies for the Cookie Week challenges, he thought about Geno, sleeping in the men’s room. Maybe it _was_ just that one night. But judging from the well worn sleeping bag and blanket, Sid doubted it. 

On Sunday, he’d said his new apartment would be ready the next day. Why would he lie, right?

But if he _were_ lying, how would he practice for the week’s bakes? No practice equaled asking for disaster, but that was on Geno. Sid didn’t have any extra time to worry about someone who already rejected his help.

By Wednesday, Sid had to know if Geno really did have a new apartment. He’d baked his cookie bars and sculpted his Showstopper enough times that he felt comfortable he could get a decent product that weekend. 

He held out til 5 Wednesday evening, having argued with himself until he finally said _Fuck it_ and grabbed his keys. If Geno were there, maybe Sid could convince him to stay with him. He had a spare bedroom and plenty of baking supplies. 

But it would absolutely be the last time he tried. “You can’t save everyone, baby,” his mother had always said when he brought home an injured ladybug or dragonfly. Maybe each time he tried, he was trying to save her all over again.

~*~

Sid rolled up to the entrance of Point State Park just before closing at dusk. He’d sweet-talked his way in, promising that he was just picking up a friend and would be out within minutes. He gave the parking money collector his best crooked grin and was allowed through for free. 

The men’s room was dark, but when Sid broke the threshold, the lights flickered on. There, in the corner of the handicapped stall, he saw the same black and yellow jacket and mummy sleeping bag. 

“Geno, it’s Sid.”

No response.

Sid felt his irritation rise up his spine, prickling and reminding himself he didn’t have to be here. “Geno, c’mon. I know you can hear me. Get up and come home with me.”

“Not that kind of boy, Sid.” Geno cracked one eye open to look at Sid.

“Stop fucking around. The park closes in like five minutes, and I’m not sleeping here. It’s gonna be close to zero tonight.”

“Why you do this?” Geno’s voice was angry, and Sid had no idea why or what he’d done.

“Listen. I’m not trying to steal your recipes or anything,” Sid said as a joke and suddenly wondered if that were it, which pissed him off more. He’d never, not in a million years, steal someone’s recipe or idea. “I’m trying to give you a place to sleep and a way to practice baking. Come, don’t come. Doesn’t matter.”

Sid turned to walk away, but Geno stopped him. “You sure? Not pity me.” He sounded defiant as he struggled to his extricate himself from his sleeping bag. 

No pity, huh? Sid could do that. “Look, asshat. I don’t have time to pity you. I have a baking competition to win.”

Geno rolled up his bag and blanket and followed Sid to the car. 

~*~

They didn’t speak much, except for Geno’s comment as they drove through Sewickley. “You too rich to worry about baking show.”

Sid laughed out loud, which reverberated in the Tahoe. “Right. I’m a kindergarten teacher. I don’t make enough a year to own a mailbox in Sewickley. When the principal heard I needed a place, he offered me their ‘little’ guest house.”

He punched in the gate code and drove around the massive brick house to a tiny-by-comparison guest house around back. He parked the Tahoe, and when Geno got out, he stood and stared at the backyard, dotted with snow piles; at the pool that was uncovered, heated for winter use; and the stone staircases leading to the first floor deck. 

“You lucky, Sid.”

Sid waited for the snarky comment he was certain was coming, but it never did. And he was lucky. Maybe that was why he needed to help Geno.

“Well, wait til you see the kitchen before you say that,” Sid said to break the embarrassment he felt. “It’s pretty small, especially for a messy baker like you.”

Geno opened his mouth to most likely curse Sid out, but the Lemieux kids came running down the stairs toward Sid, putting an end to that. 

~*~

After the kids showed Geno to his new room—which was filled with Sid’s excess hockey sticks, basketballs, baking pans, and luggage—they dragged him to the big house for snacks so Sid could clean. 

_”I_ wanted snacks too, you know,” Sid said to the empty gate house. 

No one was there to feel bad for him.

When the kids returned Geno, they declared him the “coolest guy ever,” and Sid wasn’t even the least bit jealous. And he still had no snacks.

It was past Sidney’s bedtime, and he was cranky, and he’d missed dinner. And making up Geno’s bed was the last thing he’d wanted to be helping with.

As he brought in the extra comforter and pillows to Geno’s new room, Geno handed him something from the pocket of his hoodie. “I’m bring you treat,” he said and handed Sidney a napkin-wrapped package.

One of Nathalie’s brownies. 

A gift from the heavens. It would have chocolate chunks and pecans and just a hint of coffee and coconut. It would taste like the very angels made it. He’d been an alright baker, but once he moved in with the Lemieux, Nathalie took him under her wing and taught him about flavor and texture and presentation. He listened and learned and experimented.

Which is how he got into The Tent.

“Thanks, G,” Sid said before breaking the brownie in half and giving part back to Geno. 

They clinked their brownie halves together like champagne glasses before finishing them in two bites.


	5. Hold On, We're Going Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Today's prompt is CLOVES
> 
> The Stanley Cup and the Gagarin Cup

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please don't try to bake anything I mention, unless there's a link to a recipe! lol

Cookie week was Sid’s nightmare. He burned the edges or added too much flavor for the small size. But he’d practiced and practiced until even the Lemieux kids wouldn’t eat another cookie.

What he wanted to do on Friday night was bake his Signature cookie and Showstopper one last time. But, he’d given Geno full use of the kitchen, and Geno had banished him from the guest house.

“It’s very nice of you to invite him to say,” Nathalie said carefully, as she cut up vegetables for dinner. 

“Thanks for letting me.” Sid stirred the soup and didn’t look at Nathalie. He kind of sort of didn’t ask Nathalie and Mario if it would be okay.

“Sidney, this is your home, too. Besides, you’re an excellent judge of character. If you like Geno, that’s good enough for us. And the kids love him. Tell me about him.”

It didn’t take long because Sid didn’t know much—mostly what he’d heard Geno tell the hosts. That he’d grown up in a town in Russia called Magnitogorsk, where his family still lived. That he’d made a daring escape from there to come to the US. And that he missed Russian with his whole heart but was glad to be in Pittsburgh. 

“He sounds lovely. He’s welcome for dinner,” Natalie said, carefully sliding the vegetables from the cutting board to the broth. 

“Thanks, but he’s baking.” Sid thought for a moment, unsure whether to continue. “Y’know, I think him having an apartment any day now is a lie. I think this is the first time he’s practiced.”

“People have their reasons, Sidney. And pride will make people do and say a lot of things they wouldn’t normally do. Please let him know he’s welcome to stay as long as he likes.”

Sid thought about that throughout dinner—when he wasn’t baking in his mind. Nathalie wouldn’t allow him to help clean, just handed him a Tupperware of soup and sent him home. 

Geno was curled up in the one armchair in the living room, striped with chocolate and sound asleep. He was exhausted and dirty, with cocoa powder in his hair and on his cheekbones. Sid couldn’t stop himself from using the hem of his shirt to wipe some of it off Geno’s face. He wasn’t sure if he should; Geno was at peace for the first time since Sid had met him, and he looked younger, vulnerable, cute.

No, no. Nope. Forget that last part. 

Nope. 

Sid was all about teaching, baking, working out, and with any spare time, playing hockey. That was a big fat negatory to physical or emotional attraction.

So, Geno, with his quirky smile and crows’ feet at the corners of his mournful eyes, could just go jump—live with Sid, and Sid would ignore it, and find a way to deal with it. 

~*~

Sid’s cookies were a disaster by his standards. His chocolate covered cookie began with a Nova Scotia staple, the molasses cookie using Crosby’s brand molasses, topped with homemade marshmallow and salted caramel, all covered in chocolate. 

Jim declared the tastes interesting, and Sid wasn’t sure that was a compliment. Mike noticed that his six uniform cookies looked good, but the caramel and molasses and chocolate did not go together at all. Form without substance was nothing, he reminded Sid. 

Sid bit his lips as he listened, trying to be aware he was being filmed. His stomach was in knots by the time the two finished bashing him in the kindest words, and he turned around, put his cookies on his station with as much finesse as he could muster, and then dropped his head to his folded arms.

Geno’s were a hot mess. Or a cold mess. His chocolate cooled before he could paint the silicone mold all the way. When he pushed the cookies out of it, they look like something from a swamp. With more cleverness than Sid could ever hope to have, Geno spun a story about his hometown and a swamp creature legend and how his cookies were an homage to it.

Sid wasn’t sure if they would have been as accepting of the bullshit story if the cookies had tasted like garbage, but they didn’t. They were chocolate shortbread and boozy cherries and a chocolate cream that shouldn’t have worked.

Jim declared them the best swamp monsters he’d ever eaten. Of course, Geno came out of round 1 on top. 

The Technical Challenge was a pared down recipe for fig newtons. Sid’s figgy interior was runny and his indecision to use an egg wash on top of the cookie came down to _fuck it,_ and he chose wrong.

“I can’t imagine who would have put an egg wash on it,” Mike said during the blind judging. Sid put his face in his hands and shook his head. Today could just go fuck off as far as it fucking could. 

Geno had never seen or heard of a fig newton. Don’t ask how his went. 

Rusty won the challenge with the perfect fig to dough ratio, the proper texture of the filling, and utter perfection of his cookie.

Tomorrow was another day. 

~*~

“You coming Geno, or are you gonna stand here and talk all night,” Sid snarked without looking back at Geno. “Bus is leaving.”

Geno hurried to catch up to Sid. “We have good day,” he said, knocking Sid’s shoulder with his. 

“You and that bullshit story about swamp monsters,” Sid growled, but when he looked over, Geno was grinning wide and proud, and Sid wanted to be pissed off, but Geno looked like a giant puppy, and how could he be angry?

“Just fuck off and get in the car,” Sid said, resisting the urge to ruffle Geno’s hair. 

That night, Sid dreamed of crumbling Stanley Cups and disappointed judges, and Geno holding him tight and whispering that it would be alright. 

At least his fucked up brain gave him Geno to balance out his anxiety. 

~*~

Sid was in his baking zone for the four hour Showstopper. His Gingerbread Stanley Cup baked up beautifully and exceeded the judges’ expectations. He added cloves to the gingerbread to give it a kick. The grey fondant held together in long wide sheets. 

“This is a fine piece of work, Sid,” Jim said, snapping off another piece of the cup’s bowl. 

Mike agreed, but his mouth was full, so he simply nodded.

Geno brought his up next. The judges required an explanation with his. “In Russia, we have Kontinental Hockey League. Like NHL only better. This is Gagarin Cup—”

“Like the Stanley Cup, only better?” Mike asked drily, and Geno grinned.

His Gagarin Cup used Rice Krispy treats for the base, and brandy snaps for the handles. The cup was shortbread and too thick for the base. It wobbled as the judges touched it. The taste was good. The presentation was lacking. 

Geno returned to his bench, and Sid caught his gaze. He gave Geno two thumb up; Geno shrugged, but then his shoulders slumped. 

There was a brief break as the techs looked at one of the cameras. Sid ran over to Geno and gave him a quick side hug. “It was amazing, and they loved the way it tasted. Remember what they said: in the end, no matter what it looks like, it’s still about the baking.”

~*~

“That’s week two in the bag,” Tanger said, holding up a brown paper lunch bag, “And decision time for Mike and Jim.”

Flower swiped the bag from him and began breathing quickly into it. “Today I have the pleasure of announcing our Star Baker, a gentleman who nailed all three bakes. This week’s Star Baker is Bryan Rust.”

Really? _Really?!_ Sid thought. _Geno’s Gagarin Cup was incredible! Way better than Rusty’s childhood dog…_

Tanger stepped forward and frowned. “I have the horrible job of announcing who’s leaving us. Chad, I’m sorry.”

And just like that, Ruhwedle was out of the tent. 

But Sid and Geno had made it through another week.  
“You coming home?” Sid asked as Geno hung with Hornqvist, Galchenyuk, and one of the few women, Michelle Crechiolo.

“Yes,” Geno said, waving good-bye to everyone. “Home sound good.”


	6. Kissing the New Year In

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Today's prompt: Chestnuts  
>   
> 
> 
> But when Sid pulled back, he looked up at Geno, whose eyes were hooded and dark, and 87 kinds of hot. “I’m kiss you for real?”
> 
> Sid couldn’t talk, wouldn’t talk, didn’t want to wake up from the dream if it were a dream. Too many nights it _had_ been a dream. He nodded, and Geno kissed him, soft and feathery almost kisses.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter title comes from [Bing Crosby's Let's Start the New Year Right](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GEv5rndSeSA)

“Where you kids?” Geno finally asked.

Sid, who’s opening the refrigerator for the third time hoping something will magically appear for dinner, rested his arm on the top of the fridge door. “What? I don’t have kids. I’m not even dating anyone!”

“Have lot of drawing for no kids.” Geno raised his eyebrow as if he caught Sid in a lie. 

“I teach school, idiot. Kindergarteners.”

Geno gave him a blank stare.

“Little kids. Five year olds. I teach them the foundation to their entire school career. If I do a shitty job, if the foundation is wobbly, everything later falls apart.” Sid stood tall, almost daring Geno to make fun of him for his passion.

Geno was silent, just nodded. “Mama do same. In Magnitogorsk. In Russia.”

Sid thought maybe Geno was gonna cry, so he stuck his head back into the fridge. “What do you do, when you’re not baking?”

“This and that,” Geno said vaguely.

_People will talk when they’re ready to talk,_ his dad always said. 

“We have eggs, and some bleu cheese. No wait. That’s really moldy cheese.” Sid closed the door quickly. “Pizza?”

“Pizza!”

~*~

Geno had three shirts. They were clean and well mended. But still, he had three, which cemented for Sid that Geno had truly been homeless.

“C’mon, we’re going to the mall,” Sid said one afternoon between Christmas and New Year’s. “Mario and Nathalie have a party every New Year’s Eve. It’s not formal, but it’s nice, and I don’t have any shirts to wear.”

They tried the Nordstrom and the Saks Fifth Avenue factory outlets, but nothing was in their price range. They settled on J. Crew which fit Sid’s wallet better. The shirts were buy one, get one free, and Sid made Geno try the button downs on. Then Sid made him choose a tie because they were also BOGO. 

Geno argued that Sid wasn’t going to buy his clothes for him, but Sid answered calmly and with logic. “I’m not buying your shirt and tie, Geno. They’re free. I’m buying _my_ shirt and tie. Besides, this way, no one at the party will ask me why a nice boy like me doesn’t have a date this year.”

Geno looked at Sid sideways. “You do that, you bring me they think you—gay.” He paused before he whispered _gay,_ as if someone on the mall’s concourse might be listening.  
“They already know I’m gay,” Sid said, forcing his voice to sound casual. He was private but not ashamed. He guessed he’d thought that G already knew.

“Is okay?”

“What the fuck, G, of course it’s okay. Mario and Nathalie don’t care. No one cares.” Then Sid asked, “Do _you_ care?”

Geno nodded slowly but didn’t look at Sid. “I’m care a lot. Is hard, being gay. In Russia is not good. So I’m come here so Mama and Papa be safe.”

Geno’s breath caught, and Sid tried to process everything. They were stopped in the middle of the sidewalk with post-Christmas shoppers streaming around them, and Geno just told Sid he was gay. That he’d left home because of it.

Sid didn’t know what to do. Fist bump of solidarity? Bro side-hug? Full on hug? 

Full on hug. 

“I’m sorry,” Sid said into Geno’s neck. “I’m sorry you had to do that.”

“Is okay.” Geno squeezed Sid a little tighter. “If I’m not come, I’m miss you and the tent and—everything.”

Sid knew he should pull away. That hugs don’t last this long, especially in freezing weather at a shopping mall. But Geno was warm and smelled so good and—

“What a handsome couple!” An elderly lady said to her friend as she passed them. 

_Not a couple,_ Sid almost said, but then thought, _What if we were?_

~*~

The New Year’s Eve party was in full swing when Sid and Geno walked in. They stopped one of the Lemieux kids who had a tray of bacon wrapped chestnuts and grabbed several before they went in search of people they knew. 

Geno reached for Sid’s hand. “Make it easy for people to not ask about you date tonight. Okay?”

Sid nodded, unable to speak. Geno’s hand was warm in his, wide and safe, and made him giddy, like he’d had ten champagnes instead of none. 

Geno held Sid’s hand all night. When they finally found Nathalie, her eyes flicked down to their hands and back up. “I’m so happy that you could both come. And Geno, I hope you will consider this your home, too. You’re always welcome here!”

She pecked both of their cheeks and mentioned something about a souffle in the oven and darted off.

“You’re officially part of the family,” Sid said, not quite meeting Geno’s eyes. “She doesn’t say that to just anyone.”  
“Probably because I’m sharing house with you,” Geno said, but the way he was biting his lower lip, it sounded to Sid more like a question. 

“Nah,” Sid said and gave Geno’s hand a reassuring squeeze. 

Mario turned the television on just as the ball was descending in Times Square. The people at the party counted down the last ten seconds to 2020.

When the ball touched down to the beginning sounds of _Auld Lang Syne,_ Sid hugged Geno. It was supposed to be a quick hug, a peck on the cheek, and move on to the next person.

But when Sid pulled back, he looked up at Geno, whose eyes were hooded and dark, and 87 kinds of hot. “I’m kiss you for real?”

Sid couldn’t talk, wouldn’t talk, didn’t want to wake up from the dream if it were a dream. Too many nights it _had_ been a dream. He nodded, and Geno kissed him, soft and feathery almost kisses.

“Happy New Year,” Sid said and kissed him back.

Someone cleared their throat, and Sid and Geno broke apart. Nathalie held a tray of champagne flutes. “Happy New Year,” she said as they each took one.

“Happy New Year—to us,” Geno said.

_To us,_ Sid thought. _I like the way that sounds._


	7. Livin' It Up When I'm Going Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> today's prompt:   
> orange
> 
> Geno carefully untied Sid’s bow tie and slid the silk out from under his collar, letting it flutter to the floor. He pushed each shirt button through its tiny hole and kissed each new patch of skin as it was exposed. The notch at the base of his neck, the prominent clavicle, the lines of his abdomen. Geno pulled the shirt from Sidney’s pants, and Sid couldn’t think, couldn’t speak, just the never ending _yes_ once Geno unzipped his pants, and they fell to his ankles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: NSFW. at all.
> 
> Not beta'd. All mistakes are mine.

“You know,” Sid said on the short walk back to their guest house, “New year, 365 days for new chances, blah blah blah.” He stopped and reached for Geno’s hand. “Um, if you want, you—uh—you don’t have to—you can just stay here.”

His heart hammered in his chest, but he didn’t know why. They’d been living together almost a month, and they got along great, and now, with the kiss at the party, and what did that mean, and what if G said, yeah, thanks but no, it’s been great, and the kiss was just a New Year’s kiss at midnight and—

Geno kissed him, and this time it wasn’t something chaste and fleeting. He cradled Sid’s face with his wide hand, traced Sid’s jaw line with the sweep of his thumb as they kissed. 

“Okay,” Geno said against Sid’s lips. 

“Let’s go inside,” Sid said, grabbing behind him in search of the doorknob. 

He hadn’t expected this, never thought it could be a thing. And here, with snow flurrying around them as they kissed, Sid was the happiest he’d ever been. 

Geno took a half-step closer to Sid, slid his leg between Sid’s. There was no mistaking Geno’s interest. “You right. Let’s go inside.”

They tumbled through the doorway not wanting to separate long enough to be safe. Sid tripped over the edge of a table and fell to the floor with Geno following.

“You okay?” Geno asked, worried that Sid had hurt himself, but Sid didn’t care because Geno was on top of him. 

“So much better now.” And he was with Geno’s weight holding him down, pinning him to the floor. He had no idea how badly he’d needed that, had wanted that since they’d met.

Sid pulled at Geno’s new tie, fumbled with the shirt buttons until those were both gone, and he could touch skin. 

Between kisses, Geno said, “Can we go to bed? Is softer and can do more—” 

Sid nodded, wanting what Geno wanted. Anything Geno wanted. Everything Geno wanted.

They scrambled up from the floor and to Sid’s room, which had a king size bed. Geno blocked Sid from the mattress, and said softly, “Come here to me.”

Sidney did as he was told. 

Geno carefully untied Sid’s bow tie and slid the silk out from under his collar, letting it flutter to the floor. He pushed each shirt button through its tiny hole and kissed each new patch of skin as it was exposed. The notch at the base of his neck, the prominent clavicle, the lines of his abdomen. Geno pulled the shirt from Sidney’s pants, and Sid couldn’t think, couldn’t speak, just the never ending _yes_ once Geno unzipped his pants, and they fell to his ankles. 

Sid tried to take off Geno’s pants, but Geno gently batted Sid’s hand away. “My turn first.”

Geno dropped to his knees, which was definitely not the bed, and nosed at Sid’s cock, thick and hard in his briefs. “Look at you, so beautiful. All mine.”

“Yes, yours.” Sid gasped, cupping Geno’s head with his hands, careful not to force him forward.

“I’m want to taste you. Can I do?”

“God, yes.”

Sid’s world narrowed to this: the two of them, in this room, using their bodies to explain their feelings. Words would come later, but for now it was touch and taste and pleasure that was their language.

Geno edged Sid’s briefs down, and Sid stepped out of them and his pants. Geno didn’t hesitate or play coy. He took as much of Sid in as he could and moaned around him. Sid opened his eyes and watched Geno, each time taking him a little deeper. When he pulled away, Sid sounded desperate to have him back, until Sid held him in place and with short thrusts of his hips, fucked Geno’s mouth. He felt his dick hit the back of Geno’s throat and Geno just let him, and that was the fucking hottest thing that had ever happened to Sid, and _oh my god, I’m not gonna last, I’m not gonna last, Geno, I’m—_

Sid came down Geno’s throat and Geno swallowed through it until Sidney could barely stand on his weak knees. Geno stood up and edged Sid onto the mattress.

“Gimme—a sec—I’ll,” Sid panted out. 

“Too late,” Geno grinned. “You too hot. I’m not wait.” 

Geno plucked at the fly of his trousers, which Sid knew would be a sticky mess. In a second Sid would get up and clean them both off, but for now, he kissed Geno, soft, sweet kisses that would stay that way until they got into the shower. 

And when Sid’s brain was back online, when he could think and speak, he unzipped Geno’s pants and shucked them and the boxer briefs before leading him to the shower. On the way, Sid grabbed an orange from the fruit bowl in his room. 

“Need to keep our strength up,” he said, with a crooked grin, and they shared the orange as the water heated up.


	8. Build Me Up, Buttercup

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> today's prompt: Honey
> 
> “Bakers, I can tell you two of you who are definitely not going home. Week 8's Star Baker is a tie between Sid and Geno. They are our Star Bakers,” Tanger announced, and Sid and Geno hugged right there. 
> 
> “Love you,” Sid whispered to Geno, who nodded without speaking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sidney's [Savory Tarte Tatin with winter vegetables](https://food52.com/recipes/2404-savory-tarte-tatin-with-winter-vegetables)
> 
> Geno's is a basically [Sweet Onion, but add in smoked salmon and caviar](https://www.cuisineathome.com/recipes/side-dishes/sweet-onion-tarte-tatin)

“Bad news, Sid,” Geno mumbles into his pillow. “Now that I’m have kitchen, I’m win bake off.”

Sid rolls over and elbows him. “Say that again.”

“Now that I’m have kitchen, I’m practice bake and win it all.” 

Sid’s outraged and tickles Geno until Geno can’t breathe. “Are you telling me you didn’t practice that damn airplane? Or when Mike shook your damn hand?”

Geno rolled onto his back, the sheet barely covering his morning wood. He tapped his temple. “I’m bake in here.”

“You _mind-baked?!_ That’s not even a thing. It’s not even a _thing!”_ It’s just not possible?

“Who got handshake?” Geno said with a grin. He added an eyebrow waggle which made Sid hotly irate.

Sid straddled Geno’s waist. “You, you fucking idiot.” 

And his kissed him to show how pissed he was. 

~*~

They were down to five contestants: Sid, Geno, Dumo, Rusty, and Angie, who had surprised everyone by hanging in each week. 

“Happy Valentine’s Day, bakers! We love you!” Tanger said, brandishing glitter arrows with hearts speared through. 

“But not like that!” Flower said, launching one of his glitter arrows at Geno. “Today we start with a Tarte Tatin but with a twist. We are looking for a savory Tarte Tatin rather than a sweet one.”

They have the option of a full puff pastry or a rough puff, and Sid chose a full puff because _I’m stupid,_ he thought. 

“Well, Sid, what will you be making?” Jim asked on their work station visit. 

Sid wanted to say, _a fat fucking mess, if you don’t get the hell out of here and let me work._ What he said was, “I’m making a savory winter root vegetable tart tatin with sweet potato, carrots, onion, and my favorite, rutabaga. For a hint of sweet, I’m adding some raw honey I purchased in Sewickley.”

“I know all about your honey in Sewickley,” Flower said and winked at the camera, and Sid would literally like to die at that moment. How the hell did they know about Geno and him? He hadn’t said anything—maybe Geno—

Flower plucked at Sid’s polo shirt collar said, “Your honey left marks. Anything you want to tell us?” drawing out the L in tell.

Sid giggled in relief. Geno had left hickeys, but Flower wasn’t commenting on Geno, just the hickeys. 

“Say goodbye, Flower,” Sid said, and Flower left to follow Jim and Mike who’d moved on to Geno’s station.

“I’m make smoked salmon and sweet onion with Beluga caviar,” was all Geno would say. When Tanger asked him about pastry week, Geno made comments that couldn’t even be aired on Netflix. “Sorry. I’m not like pastry. It not like me.” Too much kneading. Not enough kneading. Butter too cold. Butter too warm.

Sid laughed again. Geno’s week had been rough, trying to get either the full puff or the rough puff to work right. Sid had eaten so much smoked salmon, he was certain he was already part fish.

When time was called, the judges declared Sid’s tasty but not impressive. His heart plummeted. With only five of them left, there was no room for “not impressive.” This could be the difference between moving on and going home. Geno’s was gorgeous, but his pastry was dry. Mike reminded him that the baking and taste were always paramount.

Geno nodded and wouldn’t look them in the eye. Sid’s hands clenched into fists and he hopped off his bench, wanting to tell them, _Look, you don’t have to be dicks. He knows the taste is important. We all know that._ Maybe he also wanted to shove someone’s face into the smoked salmon. But Geno would hate for Sid to say anything that would risk his time in the tent.

After the judges had declared Angie’s basic caramelized onion and goat cheese, Sid went up to Geno and patted his back in a _you are only my friend_ way. He whispered to Geno his thoughts about the judges’ comments, and Geno smiled. “S’ok, Sid. I know I’m not good at it. I’m get through this week and kick ass next week, right?”

Sid desperately wanted to kiss Geno at that moment. “That’s right, baby.”

They all manage to pass the Technical Challenge with some degree of success, and move on to their stacked vertical pies. To the surprise of the judges, Sid decided against a hockey theme. In honor of Valentine’s day, Sid crafted Cupid (a savory pie) on his belly, with his quiver (pie number two, a black raspberry and caviar) on his back and a heart (pie 3, chocolate-strawberry mousse) atop that. 

Geno built one tower of the instantly recognizable St. Petersburg Church of Savior on the Spilled Blood. The onion dome (pie one) atop a tower (pie two) sitting on a base (pie three). Each pie had a red filling to remember the assassination of Tsar Alexander II on that site. 

Rusty, Dumo, and Angie’s pies were visually pleasing, but “dry as old boots.” 

Sidney had no idea who was going home and who was moving on. He just knew that, if it came down to him or Geno, as much as he wanted to win the GPBO, he’d rather Geno moved on. Geno who came to the US as a 20-something to escape the anti-gay laws of his country. Geno who was homeless when this contest started. Geno, who Sidney knew after only six weeks that he loved in a way he’d never felt about anyone before. 

The five of them sat in a row, holding hands and waiting for the announcement of star baker and who was going home. Sidney sat next to Geno and held his hand tightly. His heart beat so loudly, he didn’t think he would be able to hear Flower and Tanger. 

“Bakers, I can tell you two of you who are definitely not going home. Week eight's Star Baker is a tie between Sid and Geno. They are our Star Bakers,” Tanger announced, and Sid and Geno hugged right there. 

“Love you,” Sid whispered to Geno, who nodded without speaking. 

Only later did Sid realize that Dumo had been sent home. 

The quarterfinalists for The Great Pittsburgh Bake Off were Rusty and Angie and Geno and Sidney.


	9. Tomorrow is Time Enough

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> today's prompt: Barley 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Unaccepting parents
> 
> Nathalie is making [Warm Cauliflower and Herbed Barley Salad because today's prompt is barley.](https://www.epicurious.com/recipes/food/views/warm-cauliflower-and-herbed-barley-salad-51148400)

“I’m glad Geno decided to stay,” Nathalie said as she hands Sid carrots to peel and chop for the salad. “I like him, honey—not that what I think matters,” she amended quickly. She finished tearing the lettuce for the salad and handed Sid the bowl.

“It does matter, you know that.”

“I don’t mean to mother you—” 

Sid hugged her, careful to keep the knife away. “You’re not, and even if you were, that would be—pretty great.”

Sid swallowed hard, blinking back tears before he embarrassed himself. “I’ve been saving up and, you know, Geno hasn’t seen his parents in a year. I was thinking—maybe I would surprise him with two plane tickets for them to come here.”

Nathalie was silent as she sets the barley to cook. “Is there a reason he hasn’t seen them in a year? Has he talked to them, at least?”

Sid leaned against the kitchen counter and crossed his arms as he thought. “Uh—”

“Maybe talk to him about it before you surprise him. There may be a reason he hasn’t spoken to them.”

At that moment, Geno walked through the kitchen door from outside. Sid hugged him and kissed his cheek, ignoring Nathalie’s smile. 

“I’m bring home pizza you like,” Geno, with his back to Nathalie, waggled his eyebrows, and Sid didn’t think Geno meant pizza at all. “Let’s go eat.”

“You’re welcome to join us here,” Nathalie offered. “Roasted chicken and warm cauliflower and herbed barley.”

“Uh—thanks, but uh—pizza,” Sidney said and allowed Geno to pull him away. As they left, they heard Nathalie laughing.

~*~

Geno had barely closed the guest house door before he had Sid’s shirt off. “Jesus you look so good,” he said. “Want you to fuck me today so hard I’m feel it tomorrow.”

_Oh, yeah._

Sid was ridiculously excited to do this for Geno, to bring his parents here. And to fuck Geno. That was new, and he was already hard just thinking about it. He wasn’t sure he could last long enough to get Geno off just on his dick. 

Geno unbuckled his belt and began to unzip his jeans when Sid said, “What do you think about asking your parents to come stay for a little bit?”

Geno stopped. 

“Bad idea, Sid. And we not talk about my parents during sex. Is weird.”

Something cold in Geno’s tone broke Sid’s mood. “I’m not talking about your parents. I’m asking you if you want them to come visit. I have plenty of money for the plane tickets.”

“Christ, you still talking. We fuck, not talk.”

_This was total bullshit._ “What the fuck is wrong with you?” Sid demanded, aware that his cock was softening with each word.

Geno mumbled _Fuck this,_ buckled his belt back up, and slammed out of the house. 

Nathalie was right. Dammit. 

Sid stomped around the house for the next half hour, picking up old newspapers, paper plates, take out containers. Making the bed, picking up laundry. Unloading the dishwasher and reloading it with the dishes piled in the sink. 

In between his fury that Geno had just run out when Sid was trying to do something pretty damn nice for him, Sid worried about Geno. Where had he gone? He didn’t even have a coat and it was cold. And it was damn Valentine’s day.

He felt his anger drain out of his body, leaving him limp and afraid. Sid threw on a jacket and a toque and went outside to look for Geno. He eventually found him sitting on a recliner by the pool. Sid’s breath caught when he saw Geno, safe and alright. 

“Cold,” was all Sid said and handed Geno a warm jacket. Geno hurried into the jacket, and the two sat in silence near the pool. 

Sid had sat so long he’d almost reached the conclusion that Geno wasn’t going to say anything. His fingers were numb. The tip of his nose was numb. His cheeks were--

“They threw me out.”

“What?” Sid asked, thinking he must have misheard.

“I’m tell parents I’m gay, and they say get out. I go to friend’s and come back the next day. And day after, and day after. Papa was very angry. Last time I’m see Mama, she give me passport, bag, and money. Tell me to go to Pittsburgh to see Gonch who is our friend. That was last year. Last time I’m talk to them.”

Sid was red hot with anger, no longer frozen and numb. “I’m so sorry, G. Parents aren’t supposed to do that. They’re supposed to love you no matter what. They make me so angry. I was wrong to even mention them.”

Geno just looks—resigned. “You not know.” 

“Why were you living outside?” Sid asked, wondering what those people could be like to let their son live in a bathroom.

“Gonch’s work move him to Montreal. I’m not want to go. I’m think, I’m get job and apartment and it’s easy. But it wasn’t easy.”

Sid stood up and held out his gloved hand to Sidney. “Let’s go back inside. You have a home now with me.” 

Geno took Sid’s hand and stood. “Is funny you say about Mama. She call, leave message yesterday and today, but I’m not answer.”

“Do you think you should? You know it’s okay if you don’t, right?”

Geno’s voice broke when he told Sid he didn’t know what to do. “I was think maybe what if something is wrong with mama or my brother.”

“We could call. I could sit there with you and hold your hand. Or we could Skype them.”

Geno’s hands were like icicles and Sid just wanted to get him home and warm again. 

“Whatever you choose, we’ll do it tomorrow.”

Get Geno a warm bath, warm clothes, and into a warm bed. Get him to sleep, and talk about it tomorrow.

There was time enough for everything—tomorrow.


	10. Sugar, Sugar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Today's prompt: Marzipan  
> 
> 
> “They say come home.”
> 
> Sid’s breath caught in his throat. _No. They can’t have you. They let you go._ He laid his head on top of Geno’s and didn’t speak. He couldn’t have if he’d wanted to.
> 
> “I’m say no. I’m have life here now. Pittsburgh important to me. You important to me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Geno chooses to call his mother and is glad he did. 
> 
> The judges decide which 3 go to the finals.

“Mama?” Geno said, working hard to keep his voice steely, but Sid could hear the notes of sorrow and hope woven through. Sid could only listen to Geno’s tone; he didn’t understand Russian, but it seemed like a pretty good conversation.

The only words of Russian he understood were _Ya lyublyu tebya,_ which Sidney knew meant _I love you._

As Geno spoke, Sid wandered the living room. He folded the throw blanket and draped it over the back of the couch. He found a relatively clean sock wedged in between couch cushions and dusted the tv stand with it. He was almost at the point of alphabetizing his DVDs when Geno hung up.

When he got off the phone, Geno was weeping, tears running down his cheeks. Sid did the only thing he knew how to do. He hugged Geno, hugged him tight, petted his hair, and kissed away the tears. He let Geno cry.

“Mama say sorry. Sorry she not listen, sorry she make me go. She say it was to keep me safe. Papa sorry too. They say come home.”

Sid’s breath caught in his throat. _No. They can’t have you. They let you go._ He laid his head on top of Geno’s and didn’t speak. He couldn’t have if he’d wanted to. 

“I’m say no. I’m have life here now. Pittsburgh important to me. You important to me.”

 _Thank you, God,_ Sid breathed into Geno’s hair. “You’re so important to me.”

Geno kissed Sid’s neck, buried his face there until Sid lifted his face to kiss him. “I love you. So much.”

“Ya lyublyu tebya.”

~*~

The patisserie semi-finals passed in a haze of identical domed tarts and sugar glass. Sid breezed through that Showstopper; he’d made a sheet of sugar glass for his first Showstopper hockey rink.

The judges thought Sid’s sugar panels looked just like antique glass. After he tasted the marzipan princess cake, Mike shook Sid’s hand. It had been a long time since that had happened. Sid breathed a little easier; a handshake might could possibly mean Sid may be through to the finals.

Geno’s Showstopper was rough. He barely got the glass box to stick together, and when he presented it to the judges, the box collapsed, the panels falling inward. He was saved by his seven layer cake, with dark chocolate ganache and macaron decorations. 

“Your cake is very neat. Very tidy. Very Geno,” Mike declared, and Jim agreed.

Rusty’s glass was good, but his macarons inside the glass was “too simplistic for a Showstopper.” And they tasted “a bit boring.” Sid silently rejoiced. Every criticism of the others was a step forward for Geno.

Angie’s box was a bit of a mess; the panels stayed standing but weren’t glued together. But when Jim removed the box, everyone gasped. Her cake was stunning, iced blue like the ocean and covered with patisserie seashells. The fresh raspberry filling was gorgeous, and Mike said he would happily eat that all day. 

In the end, Sid was right. Angie, Geno, and he were finalists.


	11. Pat a Cake, Pat a Cake, Baker's Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> today's prompt: Thyme

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When the cameras were put up for the night, Sid untied the waist of Geno’s apron and slid it over his head. He dropped it on Geno’s work station and said, “Come on, baby. We’re going home.”

Sid played hockey growing up in Nova Scotia. _Everyone_ played hockey growing up in Nova Scotia. When he and a friend were on different teams—and those teams went head to head—Sid put his head down, turned off the friendship, and played his ass off.

But The Great Pittsburgh Bake Off wasn’t about turning off friendships. It was about helping each other, supporting each other. 

It was the most confusing competition Sid had ever been in. 

In the end, he bounced ideas off of Geno, and Geno made suggestions to help Sid up his game. Sid did the same for Geno. 

When the 3 of them walked into the tent hand in hand, Sid knew that he’d prepared the best he could. If Geno won, if Angie won, that would be terrific, because he will have done the best he could. 

~*~

“Bakers! Today we are going back to the beginning,” Tanger said with his arm slung over Flower’s shoulder. 

“Waaaah! Waaaa! Waaaah!” Flower said, scrubbing at his eyes.

“Not that beginning. Our beginning. Today for your Signature challenge, you will be baking chocolate cakes.”

“Decadent, creative, impressive chocolate cakes. You have two hours.”

At the words _Ready, set, bake!_ they began. With only two hours, it would be close. Sid knew that the presentation was as important as the cake. 

Sid decided on a simple three-layer chocolate cake with pears poached in red wine and cinnamon. While the cakes were baking, he began his maple cream-cheese icing. 

Geno chose a retro Black Forest cake with spiked cherry jam and gilded cherries on top. Very 1970s.

Angie was making a prune and Armagnac chocolate cake, soaking the prunes in the Armagnac, soaking the cake layers in Armagnac, and making an Armagnac cream for between the layers. It would be covered with a dark chocolate icing and another dark chocolate mirror glaze on top. 

Sid heard bits and pieces of the descriptions, snatches of Geno and Angie talking to themselves and to their cakes, but he didn’t have time to pay real attention. It was more like when he watched a hockey game while he was baking. He only looked up when the announcers’ voices spiked in excitement or anger. 

One of Sid’s layer cakes broke apart as it came out of the pan. _Shit-shit-shit-shit,_ he intoned in his mind. “It’s okay. It’s okay. I’ll use it for my middle layer.” But the cake looked slightly lopsided, no matter what he did. In the end, he chose a _fuck it_ philosophy and moved on, decorating the top with the poached pears and a hazelnut brittle. 

Mike and Jim loved the look of Angie’s, especially the chocolate shine. She smiled as they tasted the cake, but when they declared it “too boozy,” her smile faded. Still, they loved the look, and perhaps the taste would be alright.

They moved on to Sidney’s bench. He knew what they were going to say, and he was right. They disliked everything about Sid’s cake, starting with the presentation. “It’s wobbly. A bit clumsy,” Mike said, and ending with the taste. 

“It’s a great cake, but is it a great _chocolate_ cake?” Jim said. “No, it’s really not.”

Sidney bit his lips and whispered, “Thank you.” When the judges moved on, Sid dropped his head into his hands. He’d fucked that up royally. 

The judges moved on to Geno’s Black Forest cake. “It’s very 1970s. And that’s what you were going for,” Jim said with a smile. “It’s beautiful.”

“The flavors work well together,” Mike said, “but I’m afraid it is a little over baked.”

Geno said thank you. Sid wanted to run over and hug him, let him know it would be fine, that he would kick ass. And at least his looked good. Sid didn’t even have that. 

Their Technical Challenge was twice baked parmesan-thyme Stilton souffles, and they were given just 70 minutes. It was probably the hardest technical challenge in the shortest amount of time. 

The problem came in step two, the water bath to cook the souffles in.

“Hot water or cold? Do I use hot water or cold?” Geno asked himself out loud as he held his roasting pan with the souffle molds.

They couldn’t help each other, not with something like this. It was against the rules. 

_Hot! Hot!_ Sid’s brain screamed, wishing Geno could hear him. 

“I’ll go with cold water,” Geno said. 

Sid felt sick for Geno. Cold water wouldn’t heat up fast enough to cook the souffles. They’d be a raw disaster, but there was nothing Sid could do.

Angie’s were almost perfect with a light, airy texture and a delicious taste. They weren’t high enough and the crackers were slightly under baked, but they passed the judges’ test.

Sid’s were not uniform shape and size, but the flavor was good. “If that were served to me at lunch,” Jim said, “I would happily eat it all.”

Geno’s were a mess. They looked like puddles of gravy rather than souffles. “The flavors are lovely, but it’s like eating a soup.”

Sid didn’t know what was worse for Geno, the critical comments or the pity in the judges’ voices. 

When the cameras were put up for the night, Sid untied the waist of Geno’s apron and slid it over his head. He dropped it on Geno’s work station and said, “Come on, baby. We’re going home.”

He took Geno’s hand and led him to the car.

Mike and Jim were watching. Sidney didn’t notice and wouldn’t have cared if he had.


	12. The End Where We Begin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> today's prompt is Rosewater.
> 
> “What? What’s wrong?” Sid asked, panicking. 
> 
> “Afraid you overcook eggs. Crumbly and hard at same time. Is rosewater in there? I don’t like it. Sorry to say—toast should be golden but this almost brown. I’m eat it all day with smile but is finals. You need to do better.” Geno shook his head sadly as he picked at the food with his fork.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: NSFW. 
> 
> Sid makes [this scrambled rose omelet](https://www.food.com/recipe/scrambled-rose-omelet-67876) which, tbh sounds kind of nasty to me. lolol.

They’re silent on the car ride home. Sid drove, and he tuned into a Pirates spring training game on the AM dial. It’s nothing but background noise, something for his brain to concentrate on instead of replaying every damn mistake he’d made today.

And it’s for Geno; maybe he hated baseball. Sid didn’t know. But it’s easier than talking about flour and sugar and hopes.

“Maybe Buccos don’t suck this year?” Geno said into the passenger window. 

“Made some good moves this off season. Got some minor league talent,” Sid said, adding nothing to the conversation. 

“You kidding. You know nothing about Bucs.”

Sid threw out every fact he knew about the Pirates’ off season. He rose to Geno’s bait so they could argue for the thirty minutes back to Sewickley instead of sitting in oppressive silence.

Geno walked into the guest house and stood in the foyer. “Tomorrow is last day, Sid.”

“And we’re gonna go out trying our best. But we’re not going to worry about it tonight.” Sid shucked Geno’s coat off and tossed it on the chair. Peeled him out of his gloves and scarf. “I’m going to make dinner. Get into bed. We’re gonna eat in bed and watch _Friends_ and relax.”

Sid could manage an omelet and toast. Probably. 

He stuffed two red Gatorades in his pants pockets and carried the plates to their bedroom. Geno was in bed with the covers up to his waist but wasn’t wearing a shirt. He took the plate from Sid and stared at it without eating any.

“What? What’s wrong?” Sid asked, panicking. 

“Afraid you overcook eggs. Crumbly and hard at same time. Is rosewater in there? I don’t like it. Sorry to say—toast should be golden but this almost brown. I’m eat it all day with smile but is finals. You need to do better.” Geno shook his head sadly as he picked at the food with his fork. 

“You can fuck right off.” Sid’s laughter made it hard for him to speak.

“Is no way to talk to judge, Sidney. May affect score on your performance.”

“You haven’t had a problem with my performance the past ten weeks,” Sid raised an eyebrow. He bit his lips trying not to laugh.

“Is final, Sidney.” Geno shook his head and frowned, trying to look sad, but instead looked ridiculous. “Step up game.”

“Oh, I’ll step up my game.”

Sid hadn’t expected they’d have sex, but suddenly he wasn’t exhausted and overwhelmed by the day. He was horny as fuck with Geno challenging him, judging him; he had no idea he was into _that._

Sid took the plate back from Geno and shoved it onto the nightstand. He pulled the sheets off Geno, who absolutely wasn’t wearing sweats. Sid pushed Geno flat to the mattress and kissed him without finesse, more teeth than lips. 

“Too much clothes,” Geno complained.

Sid jumped off the bed and stripped out of his clothes as quickly as he could. His cock was on full display, and Geno growled. “Score going up already, Sidney.”

“Shut up and kiss me.”

Sid straddled Geno’s hips and leaned forward to kiss Geno; when their cocks slid against each, Geno gasped, and Sid was lost in the noises G made that were guttural and filthy. Sid wanted it to go on, to never stop.

He grabbed the lube from the bedside table and slicked his hand then wrapped it around both of their cocks. It’s satin and heat and angelic songs, and Sid whispered in Geno’s ear. _Thrust for me, baby. That’s right. Fuck my fist. Jesus, you’re so fucking good, so good._

Geno grabbed Sid’s ass and massaged Sid’s hole, scraped a fingernail over the skin, and Sid was louder than he’s ever been. When Geno pressed his finger in, it was rough and dry and too much and perfect and Sid came, spilling over his fist and Geno followed a moment later. 

Sid couldn’t form words, waited for his body to do what he wanted it to, to synch back up with his mind. 

“Sid best,” Geno mumbled, his eyes closed. “You win.”

Sid eventually got a warm cloth and cleaned them up. He curled up behind Geno and held him until they both slept. It wouldn’t erase the day they had, but it would remind him they were more than The Great Pittsburgh Bake Off. 

~*~

“It’s time for your last ever challenge. Today, the judges would like you to make a deliciously deceptive feast.”

Flower added, “It will take the form of a picnic basket and its contents, but will contain elements made from cake, enriched bread, and cookies. It will look like one thing but be made from another.”

“I don’t need to tell you it’s your last chance to impress the judges. You have four and a half hours. On your mark.”

“Get set.”

“Bake.”

Flower and Tanger, Jim and Mike, they faded away into the white noise around Sid. Before he started, Sid said a quick prayer that he and Geno would do better than the day before.  
Four and a half hours raced by. In a blink. In a hairsbreadth. In no time at all. 

When time was called, Sid felt ambivalent. Some elements of his picnic basket were terrible. His strawberry macarons looked like tomatoes, and his bread bun ice cream cones didn’t quite work. But he’d let the judges, well, be the judges. 

Sid could hear the crowd outside the tent, family and friends gathered at the fountain at Point State Park. He just wanted to see his father, and the Lemieux, and his teacher friends who’d come to celebrate with him. He’d introduce them to Geno, and they’d become his family and friends, also. 

Angie brought her picnic basket up first. It was perfect, as almost every one of her challenges had been. She had cheese (made from lemon pound cake), peaches (made from bread buns), and sausage rolls (made from fig rolls). 

It was a “feast for the eyes and the stomach.” It was “incredibly deceptive.” Sid kind of hated her.

Geno went second. His cupcakes (made from iced, bread popovers) were over baked and didn’t quite work. His macaron strawberries were tough and over cooked. The showstopper of his Showstopper was a lemon poppy seed cake that looked just like a giant chicken burger in a bun. That was beautiful and tasted good—but the cake was crumbly and over baked. Geno stood tall and proud, nodded and said _thank you_ in all the right spots. Smiled for the camera, but Sid knew he would be a mess inside. 

Sid’s heart ached for Geno. Neither of them would have to be told: just based on what the judges had said about Angie’s, there was no way that Geno could have won.

Sid’s heart hammered as he brought his picnic basket forward. Because he’d restarted his macarons, he hadn’t had the time to decorate too many, and decided to make them tomatoes instead of strawberries. The judges didn’t like the way they looked. His bread that was supposed to look like ice cream cones “didn’t really work.” He’d taken a chance and added Scotch eggs that were made from carrot cake and lemon curd. The judges laughed and declared them perfect. 

And then it was time to breathe. It was over. They’d done their best, and there was nothing they could do any more. 

Flower and Tanger led the three of them—hand in hand in hand—out of the tent and to the celebration at the fountain. Angie’s husband ran up and hugged her, picked her up and swirled her around while her two little children watched. 

Sid’s dad strode up and hugged him, then, although they hadn’t met, hugged Geno. 

Mario and Nathalie approached them, followed by an older man and woman whom Sid had never met before. 

“Geno?” Mario said, touching his shoulder. 

Geno turned around and his knees buckled. “Mama. Mama!”

Geno’s mother said something in Russian, and Geno looked past her. The man, so much shorter than Geno, must be his father. The older man moved forward tentatively, as if Geno wouldn’t want to talk to him or touch him. Geno enveloped his father in a hug, then brought his mother into the hug. 

He introduced Sid as his partner, and then told Sid that he’d just been telling them that he lived with Sid. His father looked uncomfortable but greeted Sid warmly, if in Russian.

“Contestants.”

Flower and Tanger were flanked by Jim and Mike. They made room for Angie, Sid, and Geno. 

“Thank you so much to all of you for coming to support this event!” Tanger said to the crowd. “I am delighted to tell you that after ten weeks of intense competition, the winner of The Great Pittsburgh Bake Off is—”

The silence dragged out until Sid thought he would jump out of his skin. 

“Angie!” Flower declared. “Congratulations!”

Angie threw her arms around Sid, then Geno. She babbled about wishing it had been them, and so happy she had won, but so sad they hadn’t, and then Jim and Mike were hugging her, handing her a glass baking stand trophy and flowers. 

“Saw you two walking away together yesterday,” Mike said to Sid and Geno. “Hand in hand?”

Geno straightened upright and made himself loom over Mike. “Yes? Is a problem?”

“No! Not at all!” Mike said, taking a step back. “Just wanted to say congratulations. And I’m sorry you two didn’t win.”

“It doesn’t really matter,” Sid would say later to the camera as he stood next to Geno. “As far as I’m concerned, I did win. I got Geno.”

**Author's Note:**

> everything they bake is based on research.  
> Sid's [Coconut whipped cream](https://www.godairyfree.org/recipes/easy-dairy-free-whipped-cream)  
> Sid's [choice of Sherry](https://www.sherry.wine/enjoying-sherry/cocktails/oloroso/thunder-paradise)  
> Dates in chocolate cake is a thing.  
> Geno's [chocolate raspberry cake](https://www.yummly.com/recipe/Ukrainian-Chocolate-Cake-With-Raspberry-_russian_-Recipezaar). and No I have no idea what the hell geno did to this cake to make it low cal.


End file.
